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Mu Qing might scream, might thrash for all he’s worth. He might fight against the numbness this grey world cascading down around him dares subject him to. Cold latches itself firmly onto his arms, his hands, his throat. There is the thready sound of a hum at the edges of his senses as phantom rain drops steadily atop his head. A ghostly lullaby coos at him, lulling him closer.

He falls to his knees under the pressure, all but consumed by the things around him.

Plop.

As the rain falls, he can’t help but think. ‘You’re so close to home. In that place, where they thought you were first found.’

Plop.

As the river threatens to swallow him whole, he cries. ‘But these aren’t you. These scars aren’t yours. So where does your heart lay. Or was it taken when you were.’

Plop.

‘It’s been so long, why haven’t you been found?’

His body twitches as Mu Qing clutches in vain at his chest. Those hands of his tremble, failing to find their perch as he looks down the banks of this river. This river which runs just as icy as he does, it’s banks overflowing as mud cakes itself on his pants.

Accompanying him in his despair is a body, blue and pretty. It lays flat, just a touch above where the water would’ve covered it, the river itself serving as a dress. He swallows loudly, watching as the sound of sloshing footsteps come up from behind him. 

The telltale figures of people long gone crowd around, the edges of this memory feel like sparks. Whispers muddle, crowding underneath his skull until he’s bursting at the seams. It’s cold. Perhaps too cold. He can’t even see his breath to tell, nor does his skin prickle in response. 

And yet, all the sensory details reassure him he is absolutely here as much as he doesn’t want to be.

From above him, the silhouette of an old friend hovers, umbrella hovering over his head. Although Mu Qing can’t make out what he is saying, he is sure he has an idea. This body reminds him of someone they lost. Little did he know at the time that they’d all do that. They and no idea that these deaths would carve down their skin in the very same way, working their prey into a twisted masterpiece for all to see.

Something else hits him when he sees that silhouette, blocking out the rain above his head. It’s longing, it’s wonder. It’s questions he’d never dare ask because if he did he’d have to leave. Come to think of it, Mu Qing did leave in the end.

In a veil of warmth that lay over age old inquiries that Mu Qing made when they were young, things he was quick to take back the moment that boy started laughing. The moment that boy thought it was odd to think that maybe, perhaps, there was a heart hidden somewhere inside Mu Qing. 

So he closed that heart, locked it away and tossed the key, hidden it from the tendrils of the sun.

It’s a warmth he doesn’t want to know, because it’s not his to know. That much is obvious. No matter how much it calls to him, Mu Qing wants no part of it.

When Mu Qing comes back to reality, he’s still on the banks of that river, but instead of mud there is dirt. Instead of rain, there is a breeze. Those things were not real, but the tears streaming down his face are. The ache in his chest is real as he sucks in a pained breath and folds into himself.

He ends up lurching forward, hands clutched onto the banks, throwing up whatever he last ate into the rushing water.

Mu Qing is stuck there, left sputtering into the river until he musters up the strength to wipe his mouth against his sleeve before getting up onto unsteady feet. Legs buckle slightly under his weight, but he manages to find his bearings and head back the way he came.

It’s so that he gets used to it. He tells himself. That’s why he’s been here, investigating the same scene over and over again. Because it contains the answers to events that he will dig up with dirty claws if he has to. 

Mu Qing’s teeth clack slightly as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his long coat, fishing out his phone to check the time before making his way over to his bike. He’s got a couple messages, most of them from his place of work, wondering where he is. Not out of necessity, really. He’d said he was going to lunch, though it’s been several hours since then.

He picks up his helmet up when he reaches it, shoving it on his head before sliding over the top of his seat with ease. He bends over the length of his motorcycle for a second, shuddering against it.

He still wants to throw up.

Any hunger he may have had has drained away, leaving the subtle churning of his stomach trying to revolt against him. He sucks in a deep breath, sticking the key in and turning his motorcycle on before slipping out of his spot by the trail leading in. And then, he's off.

He passes by familiar buildings, an overwhelming sense of home calls out as he drives along quiet roads. But he knows this place has long since stopped being home, because he hasn’t really been back since the day he left. It’s too unbearable to look, much less to stay.

His workplace lies in the city, and once he arrives, he’s met with a couple concerned glances as he makes his way wordlessly to the bathroom.

Mu Qing ducks his head into the sink, washing out the foul taste from his mouth as best as he can. He’s even taken to carrying mouthwash with him these days.

A knock at the door startles him, but he settles when he hears an all too familiar voice calling out to him.

“Mu Qing?” Shi QingXuan sounds through. 

Mu Qing sighs as he raises his head slowly. “What is it? If you need the bathroom I’ll be out in a moment.”

The voice that replies to him doesn’t sound very convinced. He doesn’t need a perceptive mind to tell that Shi QingXuan is worried again. “Okay! But-- when you come out can I ask you something?”

Knowing that nothing he says will get Shi QingXuan off his back at the moment, he rolls his eyes where no one can see him. “Alright. I’ll be out shortly.”

The shuffling of shoes against old carpet gives him the tell that he needs. Mu Qing goes back to the sink, and then examines himself in the mirror. His eyes look a bit weary, but who didn’t have such a look? It came with the territory, working a job that requires him to be active at all parts of the day.

With a shake of his head, he stops focusing on himself. 

There’s a hand on his shoulder.

So Mu Qing decides to leave the restroom.

As he steps out into the light of the office space, he rubs at his eyes as they struggle to adjust. “Shi QingXuan?” 

A head pops out from one of the cubicles. “Over here! Over here!” His hand waves him over.

He follows along, walking over until he’s faced with both Shi QingXuan and He Xuan. They’re looking over a broadcast on He Xuan’s laptop screen, one that leaves Mu Qing grimacing.

Shi QingXuan leans against the side of the cubical, a soft sigh slipping through. “I was going to ask you if you were okay--but then this happened.” He points limply at the screen.

Mu Qing studies the screen. “Another one..?” 

He Xuan supplies an answer. “You missed the first part. They just said that they were going to do a quick briefing on the last death, among a few other things. Unsure of what that means.”

“What was the count from last time?” Mu Qing asks, though he’s sure he’s committed the number to memory.

“Fourteen? Give or take, but it’s been a while since the last one. This is the first time there’s been such a huge delay between briefings.” He Xuan murmurs when Shi QingXuan pipes up, shushing at them with a wave of his hand.

“Shh. It’s starting again!”

Just having come from an old crime scene himself, the last thing Mu Qing wants to watch is updates on the others. This is part of the job, however and not watching would, at the least, be disrespectful. At the most, it’d be a complete slaughter of the character he’s built himself up to be.

The live news feed comes to life, hundreds of journalists all lined into one secular space to get the scoop on a story sure to make them money over the next few days. There’s a seat for him there, he knows, he has an untouched press pass sitting in his desk drawer.

“I wonder what they’re going to talk about this time…” He hears Shi QingXuan ask, though he was the one trying to shut them up not one minute ago.

He Xuan doesn’t answer and neither does Mu Qing, both of them watching as a man comes across the screen and settles at the podium. 

“As you may know.” He begins. “There has been a series of troubling homicides plaguing this city and the counties surrounding it for some time now. We have a few more details on the case, which will be presented by the lead investigator. He will answer your questions, as well as update the public on the next course of action given the current circumstances.”

“Ah-- so it’s like that…” He Xuan says to himself, sounding thoughtful.

Mu Qing picks up on what He Xuan is thinking, while Shi QingXuan doesn’t. “Huh? What’s like that?”

“Don’t be so noisy, you’ll see.”

As the older man steps down from the podium, a somewhat younger man comes up. Mu Qing’s gaze softens very briefly.

Feng Xin fumbles a little with the cards in his hands, even knocking the mic on the podium accidentally and causing it to fall out of alignment. His mouth gets too close to the mic then, mumbling a rather needless apology that probably half the crowd didn’t understand.

Mu Qing just shakes his head as he starts speaking, finally.

“It’s been a year since the fourteenth body was discovered, and we have been able to positively identify that these fourteen people were all victims of the same individual. We still have a few leads that we are investigating, and will continue to work on to the extent that is allowed by law.”

His voice sounds tense, strained. Mu Qing watches as he shuffles through his index cards in a habitual fashion rather than out of necessity. 

Someone from the crowd poses a question before Feng Xin starts talking again. “So, what you’re saying is, is that the police haven’t caught this person yet?” 

A loaded question, Mu Qing can’t help but think, wondering just how inexperienced the reporter who asked it is. The key to dealing with law enforcement is asking all the vague questions first before lunging at them with potential theories. To suggest to the public that a murderer, especially one so prolific as No Face, is still out there unrestrained, is a death knell.

They could lose tourism, people might even move. The commerce in the cities that were unfortunate to have a body crop up could stagnate over such a simple, idiotic question.

Though, Mu Qing himself hasn’t been working with law enforcement for very long, he’s learned quickly. There’s some things you just don’t ask for the sake of your tabloids even if sensational news garners more revenue.

Feng Xin looks more than unhappy at the moment. It’s a look he knows well. “If you would be so kind as to wait for me to be done with these announcements, I can take questions afterward.”

Deflection, plus his voice comes off a touch aggressive. Mu Qing sighs.

Shi QingXuan is more vocal, so he actually says something. “Well that’s stupid, whoever let that person in needs to get fired.” He says with a huff.

“You’ve asked stupid things like that before.” He Xuan says, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. “You don’t have much room to talk.”

Mu Qing keeps watching instead of commenting on their bickering, focusing as best as he can on the laptop screen. His mind, unfortunately, has other plans. As he watches Feng Xin talk, he’s taken back to a warm summer night in the old neighborhood.

It’s a time when things felt peaceful, despite whatever turbulent emotions a child could muster. A point in his life where he thought he was going to become twenty different things and have Xie Lian by his side every step of the way. Perhaps, even Feng Xin would be there. 

It feels so far removed from how things actually are. Old thoughts like these seem so alien in nature that they akin to the false memories crime scenes implant in him, not an actual memory that belongs to him.

In his mind, Xie Lian kicks his feet against playground sand as they swung slowly from the new swing set the city had installed into the park. 

The sound of buzzing comes from all around them, the trees rustling just off to the side as Xie Lian laughs. “You should do it!” 

Mu Qing grips tightly onto the chain of his swing, huffing. “Why?”

Smiles as bright as ever, Xie Lian turns his swing to look at him, taking advantage of newfound height Mu Qing didn’t have. “If you like him, why not just tell him how you feel?”

“Because there’s no point.” Mu Qing’s voice is harsh, frown planted firmly on his face. “He doesn’t like me, we barely get along, so why bother.”

“Awe.” Xie Lian sounds sympathetic, his gaze softening, though his smile remains. “But you never know if you don’t try. Who knows, you might be super surprised!”

His optimism is admirable, Mu Qing can give him that, at least. “I don’t want to be surprised. He’s stupid and I don’t care.”

Xie Lian tilts his head at that. “Didn’t you just say you liked him?”

He hisses. “Don’t say it out loud! What if he shows up!”

Except they both know Feng Xin wouldn’t be coming today. Not with the mess he made at school earlier in the day. He had a habit of picking fights on behalf of others, and being the strongest of the three of them, it seems natural that he’d get into another fight. 

Mu Qing and Xie Lian were involved, but because Feng Xin was bigger and had the upper hand, he got embroiled in more trouble than they did. His knuckles turn white the harder he grips onto his chain.

Xie Lian seems to notice because he pipes up, words soft on his tongue. “Mu Qing, I know this is hard. But it really isn’t something you have to hide you know.”

“I don’t want him to know.” His gaze is cast downward, where his feet barely graze the tops of little man made sand dunes. “What if it changes something? What if…”

“Is that what you’re scared of…?”

“I don’t care if it stays like this.” He says, resolute in his beliefs.

Xie Lian’s face takes a sad turn. “Okay… I think there’s no harm. But if you don’t wanna I won’t push you or anything. Okay?”

Mu Qing finally looks at him, eyebrows furrowed. Xie Lian just smiles as Mu Qing extends a pinky over. “Don’t… tell him.”

He nods, entwining their pinkies. “I won’t. You have my word.”

It was the first of many pinky promises that didn’t involve Feng Xin. One of the many murmured secrets Xie Lian took with him when he disappeared into the night. When he called him that he was on his way home and never made it. 

All leading up to the news broadcast he misses because he’s too busy traveling down memory lane. 

“Thank you for your time.” Feng Xin says on the monitor before stepping down as the mob of story hungry reporters stand up from their seats, eager for answers to who knows how many questions.

He Xuan shrugs as the feed goes dead. “That’s just how it is.”

“I guess it makes sense.” Shi QingXuan says with a pout. “Disbanding the task force is a...big thing. It’s been so long too.”

With them filling in the blanks for him, his lips purse. “I guess it really has been too long.” 

Shi QingXuan turns his attention to Mu Qing, looking puzzled. “Isn’t this going to make things harder for you? You already skipped all the press conferences, and now there won’t be anymore.”

Memories of the bodies he’s seen in the past week are seared into his mind the moment Shi QingXuan presses further, signalling how little it really matters. Even if he didn’t know that it wouldn’t matter when he refused to go.

He waves a hand dismissively. “All the information is still there, if I want it I have contacts like everyone else. I can still do my work. The crime scenes are all locations we know as well. If I wanted to continue my manuscript that’s no problem.”

He Xuan tsks. “Stay out of the man’s work. Focus on your own. As long as we meet our quotas, nothing else matters.”

Shi QingXuan didn’t seem convinced, but with no support and two equally grumpy people, he’s outnumbered. Eventually, he manages a smile as he looks at Mu Qing. “You’re always on top of things, so I bet it’ll be a-okay! But if you need any help, let me know.”

Mu Qing didn’t need it, but he decides to be polite since he is in his work place at the moment. “... Appreciated. If you’ll excuse me, I have work to get back to.”

He walks back to his desk, situated by the window, and sits down at his abandoned laptop. Popping it open, he begins working on documenting what he’s seen today.

Every person, like in the telecasts and various witness testimonies, has the same distinct cuts. And now, Mu Qing has seen them for himself. Decorated corpses, laid down neatly in it’s resting place, drained of their insides before being abandoned. 

Every last one looking suspiciously like Xie Lian. Not that many would make such a distinct connection.

There’s still a lingering acidity in his throat from when he threw up, accompanying the feeling of cold fingertips against the back of his neck. Mu Qing reaches a hand back, attempting to rub away the sensation and failing. His own hands are equally as frigid.

The only thing he can think to do is to further his experiments, pick at the visions and feel out for what they’re hiding from him. Until Mu Qing stops crying, until he’s found the answers he wants.

The details of this power are hidden away in a paper pad, not eager to trust that a computer could keep something like that a secret. Everything is archived, from what he feels, what he sees. The overall taste of this otherworld seems woven neatly into the fabric of the past.

What he can’t get down is the time. Mu Qing is unsure what the catalyst is, unable to pinpoint it’s realm of origin. It’s always the same, one moment he’s walking and the next he’s surrounded by ghostly figures of people. The only thing that ever stands out is the body itself, looking as clear and as crisp as the day it might’ve been found.

The sights are too much for him, but he needs to keep going. Every step he takes is one step closer to Xie Lian. If the task force Feng Xin was leading is going to be disbanded, then he needs to take up the mantle. Pick up where Feng Xin failed, and use his power to his utmost.

Even if every single time he comes back feeling less alive.

The days blur together from there. Each time he goes back to the first two crime scenes, he collapses to his knees. The shivers don’t leave him, nor do the shadows. There is an all encompassing feeling of unease all around him, making him twitch.

But Mu Qing keeps coming, until months have passed and he’s no longer on his knees at the edges of a river bank. Instead, he is next to the body itself, staring at dead eyes looking up at him. 

Once he’s accustomed to one body, he goes to the second one. This one on a path down into the forest. Experience from the previous body lends it’s hand here, and he’s able to readily tap into the sparks at the edges of his fingertips. Experienced fingers part this rift just as easily as he’s done with the first one, discovering a decomposing body wrapped neatly in plastic and covered in foliage. 

Of course, the half smile is still clearly visible.

After each visit, he processes each and every detail transcribed in his notepad. New things revealing themselves to him until he feels he’s able to compress and work the scene with ease. Even if people stare at him as he does so.

There might’ve been a point where he felt comfortable with his power, whatever it may be called. 

That comfort came and went rather quickly.

Mirrors became his worst enemy in the passing days, tremors coursing through his body. From hands, to people, to smiles. All behind him, almost waiting for him to turn around. Even in his own apartment, he can’t seem to manage to rest. The dark feels like too much, too lonely. Things he’s never experienced before creeping up and grabbing at his throat in the middle of the night.

Mu Qing’s taken to placing all his things in the office and just resting there when needed, only returning home during the day when he needed to bathe and change clothes.

It draws a lot of unwanted attention, much to his displeasure.

“Hey, are you alright?” Mu Qing turns his head up, looking at Shi QingXuan, who hovers over him.

“Fine. Do you need something?” 

Shi QingXuan sighs, placing his hands on his hips. “I should be asking you that! You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“Most of us tend to think of sleep as optional.” Mu Qing retorts, turning his focus back to his laptop as he works on his latest article.

From above him, a rather dramatic huff. “I actually like getting my healthy eight hours of sleep, thank you very much! But seriously, Mu Qing. If you need some help with the workload-- “

Mu Qing disregards the concern. “I don’t need anything. This article is almost done, and once it’s sent to our editor it doesn’t matter what else happens to it.”

“That’s not what I mean!” He shoves his hands down on Mu Qing’s desk, earning him a scowl. Shi QingXuan doesn’t back down, puffing out his cheeks.

“Then, tell me, just what do you mean?” He hisses.

Shi QingXuan stays firm. “When you first came here, you didn’t look like this. I would know, appearances are important. I know for a fact that you’re the only one who looks like this now!”

This overly friendly attitude makes him angry, but he works through it and calms himself down. “It’s none of your business. Hasn’t He Xuan told you? Focus on your own work.”

There’s another sigh. “... Fine. Just keep my offer in mind, okay?” His voice sounds so pitying.

Just hearing it makes him want to gag. “ I will... You can go now, let me try and finish this.”

Shi QingXuan lingers for a moment, but Mu Qing never raises his head. Perhaps, finally giving up, he heads back to his desk. 

Once he’s gone, Mu Qing goes through is drawers, pulling out his notepad and getting to work. The next couple dumpsites are just as accessible as the first two, though they lacked the same proximity to his workplace. While these were in different parts of the same city, the rest spanned over the countryside, placed precariously over forgotten roads, perhaps abandoned buildings. 

Mu Qing scratches at his scalp, knocking a few of his loosely tied back hairs loose. He’s about to tuck them back when he notices a couple of strands of white intermingling in with the black. His face contorts, unsure of where they came from.

Have they always been there?

Shi QingXuan stops pressing at him for some time after that, preferring to keep his distance and offer him the usual smile and wave. It’d be better if he just gave up, but Mu Qing’s time here has proven that Shi QingXuan is the type that wouldn’t dare let someone go if they could help it.

He’s keeping his distance, but it’s only for Mu Qing’s sake, that much he knows. Otherwise, he’d be all over him like a hurricane.

Not that it matters. As long as Shi QingXuan didn’t interfere with his work, this was fine enough. Mu Qing isn’t particularly keen on making friends anyway, not when his is still missing.

Time means very little after a certain point. Once he’s studied the first three sites extensively, he moves on to the last one in the immediate area. It’s taken him a solid year to get to this point between this work and his usual work, and Mu Qing feels ready. 

After all, the fourth site feels a bit more daunting than the first three geographically.

He parks his motorcycle at the edge of a cliff side. The incline is not particularly steep, and there are some houses settled down at the bottom beyond the groves of trees and twisted shrubbery. Mu Qing crouches closely to the edge of the cliff before slowly making his way down.

There is a small creek running down this path, marking it, making it a little special. Mu Qing keeps going until the scene transitions. 

First, the body makes its appearance, the usual detectives taking the same path down that he did. Except, he catches onto something different, like this site carries an odd feeling oozing over it. Every place he’s been to gives off the general vibe of being followed, but he never finds anything more than that. Here, there is the distinct feeling of eyes, leading him down further, beyond where the body lay. 

He walks until he’s faced with a shape, slowly rising from the depths of green. The temperature plummets drastically, and for a moment, he feels genuine fear. Not fear around him from all sides, but fear in his heart. Mu Qing’s limbs go stiff, staring at it.

Almost protectively, something else winds its way around him in his fear. A sort of still beating warmth, dragging him back away, until it’s nothing more than a moment. A fragment of the perceived past conjured up by Mu Qing’s mind.

His breathing comes down heavy, raspy. His teeth chatter as he makes his way back up the embankment, not even bothering to remember to note down the body he saw or what lay across it. Once he’s back to his motorcycle, he clutches at it, wracked with shivers until he manages to force himself to start the engine and get the hell out of there.

There’s an empty feeling in his chest as he returns to the office that night, after doing everything to scrub it away in the longest bath he’s taken since he’s started investigating.

His forearms are red, scratched bloody by his nails but it’s nothing that a long sleeved shirt can’t hide. 

That’s where he sleeps for the night, curled up atop his desk under the bright fluorescent lights of his of work space while his coworkers are away. 

Despite what he sees, Mu Qing goes back. He goes back at least once a week when he’s not busy chasing down leads for other cases before other tabloids can get to them. 

Each visit is more volatile than the last, the shadow coming closer, what looks like a knife in its hand. Before anything happens, though, that alien warmth drags him back. Sometimes gently, sometimes swiftly. It gives Mu Qing a chance to try pinpoint if it’s been something he’s felt, or if it’s new.

He’s leaning on his hand, stuck in thought, when Shi QingXuan bounds over. “Mu Qing!” He hums happily. “I feel like I haven’t been catching you lately.”

His sense of time and reality have become a bit skewed, so Mu Qing just looks up at him. “Were you looking for me for something?”

“Oh, nothing too big!” He chimes in sing-song, before continuing. “I just wanted to give you this.”

An ornate card is placed by his hand, and Mu Qing eyes it weirdly. Reading the calligraphy on the front of the card, it’s clearly something important.

“What’s this?”

Shi QingXuan is all smiles, grabbing a rolling chair from some other poor bastard’s desk before plopping down on it. “I’m getting married! I want lots of nice people there, so you’re definitely invited.”

Mu Qing can’t help but wonder where he got the nice from. It can’t be his face when he feels he’s sped up the aging process somehow. Nor could it be his personality, because he’s never really been one to even join the stupid office bonding events that Shang QingHua tries to host from time to time.

Besides, the last time he went to a wedding, it ended with him drunk, crying into Xie Lian’s lap while Xie Lian had to comfort him. Needless to say, the whole thing was rather embarrassing.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?! You should be super grateful! It’s exclusive. Only the people most important to me get to be there.” Shi QingXuan huffs indignantly.

He looks at the pretty card, and then looks at Shi QingXuan before relenting with a soft sigh. While he isn’t sure where this friendship Shi QingXuan thinks they have came from, his fingers gingerly reach for the card and tug it closer. Mu Qing flips it open, studying the dates.

“... I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it.”

Shi QingXuan gives him a rather pleading look before switching to a small smile. “I know it’s a wedding, but you’ll have fun. Maybe you’ll even get to meet more people, you know?” 

That’s a fruitless endeavor, one Mu Qing has tried in the past. For some reason, he can’t bring himself to be around anyone without thinking of someone else. “I’m really busy, you know that.”

A set of hands come to clasp his own, making him flinch slightly. “I know, but please think on it? Maybe you don’t meet anyone, that’s fine. But -- at least be there? It’ll mean the world to me.”

Echoes of what feels like an ancient conversation ring in his mind, and for a moment, he doesn’t see Shi QingXuan. 

Instead, he sees Xie Lian, laughing at him.

“We’ll be like each other’s date.” Xie Lian says teasingly, patting at his shoulder.

“I don’t want to go.” Mu Qing snaps as loud as he can in a diner setting, taking a sip of his milkshake.

“It’ll mean the world to him if you do, if we’re both there.” Xie Lian reasons. And for a moment, that soft tone makes him regret.

“He won’t notice if I go. He’s too busy making baby eyes at his bride to be.” Mu Qing snorts with a roll of his eyes.

“Feng Xin isn’t that stupid. Come on.” Xie Lian reaches a hand over, placing it over Mu Qing’s comfortingly. A few pats and Mu Qing relaxes. “It’ll mean the world to me, too.”

“I… I don’t know.” He finally says, voice low to the ground, eager to be swept away.

The memory clears and he sees Shi QingXuan again.

“... Mu Qing?” He asks, uncertain.

Mu Qing’s eyes close and he sucks in a sharp breath. He wonders if this is his third chance, if life was giving him the opportunity to let go finally. Not of Xie Lian, but of--

“I’ll call and RSVP or something. Let me see how my work goes for now.” He replies gently.

Shi QingXuan brightens like he’s won the lottery, bright grin spread over his face. “Please do! I’d be really happy to see you there okay?”

The arms that find themselves thrown over Mu Qing give him pause, and all he can do is pat at Shi QingXuan’s forearms with a sigh. “I said I’ll see, now get off me.”

He hears a giggle, and Shi QingXuan gives him a little squeeze before finally letting go. “They should call you Mr. Grump. Okay! I’ll see you later, I’ve got a dinner date to get to.”

“Scram then.”

“Hmph! You’re starting to sound exactly like He Xuan!” He yells as he leaves like a whirlwind, taking the noise with him.

He watches as Shi QingXuan leaves, eyebrow raised. 

So why are you marrying him if you two don’t seem to get along?

With him gone, Mu Qing is alone again. He pulls the card over properly and examines it. His thumb smooths over the frilled edges as his eyes read the information, dates, times. There’s no gift requirement, which he is grateful for. 

His eyes flit back to the words on his screen. Multiple tabs of research into all the dumpsites, where they were, stories of strange phenomena and if they could be connected to each and every one of those sites. This particular search is pointless, just the result of his inability to accept what he’s been seeing even if he’s the one seeing it.

Looking out the window and over the dark expanse of the business park below, Xie Lian’s voice hums in his ear once again, repeating.

“You’ll regret it if you don’t go.” 

Mu Qing let’s out a weary sigh, saying out loud. “I know.”

Except that he also remembers regretting going. He remembers sitting toward the back as Feng Xin said his vows, sunglasses on his face because he still hadn’t come to terms with everything yet. A childish call for attention from an idiot who couldn’t get past one stupid simple crush when he’s had since he was about eight.  

Catching a reflection of himself back in the window, he snorts. Mu Qing can focus on finding Xie Lian, and maybe he can eventually come to live a life where he held no regrets. One where he isn’t stuck lamenting on what could’ve been, when he is the one who ensured it couldn’t be.

-- As if it could be anything in the first place.

Just as his thoughts come to an end and memories loosen their hold, therein lies one small voice. It’s one that holds on at the edges as everything collapses around it, wishing to be heard. 

“Mu Qing?”

His movements still, a soft unintended gasp leaving him as his fingers curl against his desk. 

Even after so many years, he thinks wistfully in the sanctuary provided by his empty office space, I still hate the sound of your voice.

Phantom voices have become more common, though they’re usually Xie Lian. This is the first time that it’s been someone else entirely, someone he could very much see if he wanted to. He chuckles despite himself, going back to his manuscript.

At first, Mu Qing considered it being a part of his power. 

He’s come to learn that he’s just getting older. 

Wedding invitation in his hand and unnaturally high spirits in his heart, he manages a small smile no one can see. He even stops to wonder that maybe when he finally finds Xie Lian, perhaps Mu Qing can show him some amount of progress. 

It’s rather wishful, but change can happen. Right?

His phone starts ringing at that point. A pleasant hum escapes Mu Qing as he reaches over and answers the call. 

“Hello?” 

A laugh comes through the receiver, smashing whatever kind thoughts he’d been having to pieces. “Might I speak to Mu Qing?”

Swallowing, he schools his answer, jaw set firm. “... What do you want with him?” 

“I just want to pass on a message. If you’re a… friend of his, would you be so kind?”

The tone in this person’s voice gives Mu Qing the impression that he really doesn’t have much choice. His eyebrows furrow, doing his best to temper the agitation in his voice. “What would the message be?”

“Nothing too long.” There’s a thick layer of vitriol covering this person’s voice. “Just tell him. If he keeps snooping through things that don’t pertain to him, he might not like what happens next.”

Not one to back down, Mu Qing sneers. “And why would I tell him something like that?”

Another cheerful laugh. “Because I can see you. So please, don’t make things so difficult.”

Claws rake down his back as Mu Qing is left stunned, eyes widening as he forces himself not to turn and look out the window. The idea that someone was, no, is out there. He clicks his tongue against his teeth.

“I’ll… be sure to forward your message, then.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

The line goes dead, and Mu Qing lowers his phone down onto the desk. An unearthly cold has settled over his body, leaving him breathless.

Thoughts of any future plans are promptly forgotten. There’s no sense in denying who that was, because even without knowing for sure there are no doubts in his mind. There’s only one case Mu Qing has been working on extensively that existed in an untouched limbo where the killer was still out there, waiting. 

Everything comes back to him, nails digging into his arms yet again. Images of bodies, of shadows, of crooked stitched smiles, all of them circle around him. Thoughts sing in their euphoria, leaving fissures in their wake, places where he no longer feels comfortable. Much less safe.

The world itself seems to shatter all around him, leaving only scattered pieces. Each fragment finds its home embedded into his palms, drawing lovely streaks of red across pale skin. 

If No Face wants him, it’s because there is something that he might find out that he doesn’t want him to know. If he had nothing to fear, there would be no need for a threat or a call. He could live his life in peace while Mu Qing wandered around in circles, hunting for the ghostly remains of an age old friend.

But he came out of hiding instead to give him a warning. Mu Qing shifts into gear, scouring through his pages of notes, the manuscript for the book he’s been writing over the course of his investigation. There are fourteen dumpsites, and he’s only been to four.

There’s no time.

He packs all his things and leaves the office that day. 

Then, the next day passes, as well as the one after that. Time continues ticking this way. Where he misses weddings, birthdays, celebrations of any kind. And though his job remains stable due to the flexibility of the hours, every day Mu Qing grows more and more unsettled.

He’s bothered to try and visit the first few crime scenes again, even going to the place Xie Lian was believed to have last been seen. When nothing happens, he confirms at least two things.

Xie Lian could be both alive and or dead, but he definitely was not at any of the scenes, nor was he killed at the place where he was last seen.

Calls file into his phone, some from Shi QingXuan within the first few months. When those calls stop, all Mu Qing is left with are blinking private phone screens and haunting voicemails. Those are filled with taunts in his direction, minutes of gruesome details of the things that would happen to him if he continued on his merry way.

Years pass, and this remains a constant, until he’s sure he can’t visit any crime scene without feeling vulnerable. Until Mu Qing realizes he can no longer do this alone.

That’s how he ends up at that pier, phone in hand, dialing a number he swore to himself he’d never dial as words he’d never thought he’d say fall from his lips.

“I… Can you come down, meet me at the lakeside.”

Naturally, Mu Qing never misses anything. So he catalogs the look of shock on Feng Xin’s face when they finally meet again for the first time in ten years. He doesn’t miss his reaction to his grayed out hair, dark eyes. Acting as if he’d never seen him before.

And perhaps, to a degree, Feng Xin hasn’t.

Those were the steps that lead him here, to this moment where the sound of Feng Xin setting down his phone on the desk is the loudest thing he’s heard in a long time.

“So.” Feng Xin gestures at the phone. “When were you going to tell me No Face has been stalking you?”

Mu Qing finally finds his anger. “What are you talking about? Haven’t you heard of respecting someone else’s privacy? You can’t be that much of a nimrod.”

Feng Xin switches to fury quickly, his eyes alight though his voice hasn’t reached the tipping point yet. “You forfeit your fucking privacy the moment you let a fucking serial murderer stalk us.”

“Shut up, Feng Xin.” He seethes as he marches closer, thinking about how he might strangle Feng Xin with the towel draped over his shoulders. “I didn’t let anyone stalk us!”

“Then what the fuck was that, huh!?” He finally explodes, shoving one of his stupid sausage fingers in Mu Qing’s face. “Some guy calls us, knows both of our fucking names, threatens you and you expect me to believe different?! What else could he be talking about, Mu Qing!?”

Mu Qing lets out a growl and swats the hand waving in front of his nose. He ends up digging his own finger into Feng Xin’s collarbone. “None of your fucking business, that’s what! Now look what you’ve done! I had everything under control!”

“Under control…” He erupts. “Under control!? That’s under control to you, you can’t be that fucking stupid!” Feng Xin gives Mu Qing a shove.

Mu Qing returns the shove. “You colossal asshole! How daft can you be! Everything was fine, and then you--... you...” 

“I fucked it up!? Is that what you were going to say!? Feng Xin grabs onto his arms before he can retreat, slamming their foreheads together roughly. Mu Qing hisses upon contact. “Weren’t you the one telling me not too long about the dangers of a killer!?”

His head hurts, they’re too close. There’s something swirling in Feng Xin’s eyes, but Mu Qing lacks the capacity to understand what it is.

They’re both caught with their teeth grit, shallow, angry breaths intermingling in the small space they occupy. It takes Mu Qing time to pull himself out of his hold, not that Feng Xin was keeping him in place. The moment he shifts, his hands come free and Mu Qing finds himself digging his nails into his own arm.

He’s still turned away when Feng Xin finally speaks up. “... What the fuck are you doing, Mu Qing?”

“Finding Xie Lian.” He answers, voice as quiet as a pin drop.

“What?” Embers burn brightly. “Is that seriously all you’re thinking about right now, Mu Qing there is a fucking killer on our t--.”

Mu Qing rushes back, low growl reverberating in the back of his throat as he stares Feng Xin down. His voice is laced thick with venom, shaking at the ends. “Are you telling me you forgot what I called you here for, why I’m even here. If not for him, then for who.”

“Stop fucking around, Mu Qing.” His tone carries the undercurrent of a threat. “This… This is a lot more serious than just a fucking investigation. This...--”

Mu Qing steps back. “I’m not fucking around. I’m here to do my job, whatever it takes. But…” He frowns. “Now that he knows, I need to go.”

Feng Xin’s train of thought visibly stops. “... What?”

“I’m leaving. Who knows if he knows if we’re on his trail. I’m not taking that chance.” Mu Qing goes around Feng Xin, who stands there dumbstruck for mere moments before his hand comes out and latches onto Mu Qing’s bicep.

Everything in their room becomes still again, nothing but the soft sounds of their breathing against the backdrop of a still vibrating phone.

“You’re not going anywhere.” 

“Che. Like hell I’m not, who are you to stop me?” 

They’re still turned away from each other, so Mu Qing waits. He waits for him to let go. Surprise coming only when Feng Xin doesn’t this time.

“Did you forget the promise you made?”

“Feng Xin, let me go.”

His grip tightens in spite of him. “Did you fucking forget, dick?”

How could he? The last few weeks of conversation after conversation, of time spent with Cuo Cuo, of late nights with nothing but the sound of rustling papers to comfort them. Despite the cold threatening to swallow Mu Qing whole, warmth has always lead him back. 

The hand holding him in place finally reveals to him why.

But this is different. Feng Xin has a family, has a place to go back to, where he’ll be missed. Does he have the best relationship with them? No, because he’s an idiot. 

However, that doesn’t mean he is undeserving of that space.

If anything happened to him and Cuo Cuo lost him, there would be no room for forgiveness in Mu Qing’s heart. He knows that, but he also knows Feng Xin. He’s come to learn how obstinate he really is, from his tastes in fast food garbage to never leaving Mu Qing’s side when he pauses to sweep crime scenes for their secrets. 

More recently, he’s also come to discover that Feng Xin won’t let him go when Mu Qing needs that anchor most.

He knows how to approach this, in theory. Feelings of regret coil inside his gut, the lingering flicker of a thought coming to rest at the forefront. Something Feng Xin deserves, but Mu Qing’s lips will never give.

I owe you an apology.

“Fine.” Mu Qing says instead as he turns to look at him slowly, waiting for the phone to stop ringing before shutting it off. “Let’s go to the library tomorrow after resting for tonight. Figure out a new game plan.”

Feng Xin studies his face for a moment before letting him go. “How long, Mu Qing?”

He answers honestly. “A year or two after I started my investigation, not too long after your task force got disbanded.” 

Feng Xin gapes at him. “-- What?”

Mu Qing rolls his eyes, earning himself a glare. “You wanted the truth. That’s the truth. I’ve been laying low until recently. Happy now?”

“Who knew the Spirit Detective was such a prick.” Feng Xin mutters before sighing. “Does he--..”

Mu Qing is quick to shut him down, looking at the marks his nails left in his arm. “No. If he knew where we were, then he would’ve come. He only calls when he spots something in the area. He… probably saw me at some point.” 

“... Okay.” Feng Xin says, then repeats. “Okay. We’ll figure something out then.”

Mu Qing thinks there’s nothing to figure out, but instead of saying so, he digs around for his wallet before taking out his card. “Can we just… get food. I don’t care what anymore.”

Feng Xin just spares him a glance before nodding, taking the card being handed out to him. Mu Qing catches him staring at it for a little bit before sitting himself down on the bed while Mu Qing takes up a familiar post at the desk. He tosses his towel over the back of his chair and gets to work.

The rest of the night goes the same as usual, with the two of them just eating in easy silence while Mu Qing takes stabs at his manuscript as he studies over the notes he took.

Eventually, he hears gentle snoring coming from behind him, prompting him to look. Feng Xin is sitting propped up against the headboard, arms crossed with papers strewn about, a familiar visage in the last few weeks. 

One Mu Qing thinks, in a moment of absolute weakness, he might miss. 

Turning back around, he focuses more intensely.

The last site held two secrets, anger and eyes. The body itself looked so similar to Xie Lian that both Feng Xin and himself did double takes when they saw it. There was also the strangulation. As he’s tapping his pen against his lip, it dawns on Mu Qing that perhaps he’s not thinking about this in the right way.

Each body was styled to look like Xie Lian, from the types of faces No Face preferred down to styling his hair the way Xie Lian liked to wear most. He grew bold with each kill, but the way he treated the body of the eighth victim was startling. The circle comes to mind, and for Mu Qing specifically, the anger he felt there as well.

Why would No Face be angry, unless…

--Unless.

His pen falls at that moment, a little noisy against his notepad. 

So, that’s how it is.

Mu Qing quickly picks his pen back up, keeping his writing as neat as possible as he scribbles out a note that he promptly puts in the inner pocket of Feng Xin’s jacket. He promptly starts putting everything away once he’s made sure he’s got everything properly transcribed. 

His heart races along until he tucks his laptop bag off to the side.

Everything safely set away, his attention turns to Feng Xin, who is still sleeping soundly against the wall. 

One final time, he thinks as he moves all the papers out of the way. Once they’re collected, he writes down all the addresses for each dumpsite. When that’s finished, he puts everything in Feng Xin’s bag before easing him down onto the bed properly.

Feng Xin’s eyes flutter open, sleep heavy gaze making Mu Qing’s skin prickle. This time, he doesn’t scowl, merely looking away as he slips the blankets over of him.

He’ll forget by morning, at least. 

With everything ready, Mu Qing finally comes around to his side of the bed, slowly settling himself down atop the mattress.

What he doesn’t anticipate are arms coming around him the same way they did the night before, dragging him back and pressing him flush against Feng Xin’s chest. There’s no other sound between the two of them except combined heart beats. Little sighs filter through, leaving him soft and vulnerable under the cover of nightfall.

Something tells him to move away, put up the wall he’s placed between Feng Xin and himself since he was a child. Instead, weakness takes hold in the dark, and Mu Qing’s eyes close as his arm comes to rest atop the one wrapped around him. His hand lays neatly along the hand Feng Xin has pressed against his chest.

Their fingers twine together without him realizing. It’s like he’s holding Mu Qing in place, preventing him from leaving. It’s an impossible thought. 

As sleep drags Mu Qing under, the only thing left to think about is the subtle realization that he doesn’t feel so cold anymore. 

Then, reality smacks Mu Qing in the face the following day as the sun comes back up.

As he slowly becomes human again, he has to pretend he didn’t fall asleep curled up in Feng Xin’s arms. Mu Qing elbows him slightly to get him to let go before finally hopping out of bed. The alarm behind him stops as he parts the curtains. 

“You can take the bathroom.” Feng Xin says through a yawn.

“I’m already showered last night so you go.” Mu Qing replies. “I just need to brush my teeth.”

Feng Xin grunts, there’s the sound of sheets ruffling behind him. When Mu Qing turns around he finds Feng Xin collapsed back onto the bed, pillow over his head.

“Don’t wanna.”

“Oh no you don’t.” He storms over, lifting the other pillow and smacking it down on top of him. “We have work. Get up!”

“Hey!” Feng Xin shoots a palm out, trying to hold back the pillow onslaught. “Alright, alright! Fuck, you’re annoying. I’m up!”

Feng Xin slowly gets up and off the bed, stealing a glance at Mu Qing. Their eyes meet, and not for the first time in the past few days, Mu Qing can’t comprehend what he sees. 

Placing a hand on his hip, he asks. “What?” 

“Nothing.”

Feng Xin runs to the bathroom and closes the door behind him, leaving Mu Qing with the messy remains of the bed. He takes to fixing it quietly and then changing, listening to the sound of Feng Xin stubbing his something on something else.

“MOTHERFUCKER!” Sounds through the motel room.

Mu Qing shakes his head with a sigh.

Their routines taken care of, they take off for the library as soon as everything is put back in Feng Xin’s car and they’ve properly checked out. Along the way, Mu Qing keeps looking at the rear view mirror, pout set firm on his face.

As if he’s paying attention to him, Feng Xin speaks up. “Don’t worry too much about it.”

Mu Qing has to wonder just who that sentence is for. “I know, I don’t need you to tell me.”

The library entrance is tucked away in a corner, rather seedy looking. Feng Xin picks a spot by the doors. As they step out, Mu Qing looks around, laptop bag on his person while he scopes the area out. His eyes land on a couple of bus stops not too far down the block. 

He fishes out his phone, looking into schedules when Feng Xin’s voice calls out to him. “Ready?”

Feeling satisfied, Mu Qing nods and tucks his phone back in his pocket. “Let’s go.”

They head down the odd cove the doors are hidden under, walking inside. Mu Qing is getting ready to sit down when Feng Xin stops half way into his chair.

“Save my seat. I’m gonna go piss.”

Taken aback, Mu Qing’s lip curls into a snarl. “Could you be any more vulgar?”

“What? It’s just piss.” Feng Xin frowns at him. “I’ll be right back.”

He trudges along, hands in his pockets while Mu Qing watches him until he’s out of eyesight. He pushes his seat quietly back into place. He gives it another minute, listening for the sound of a door closing before he actually makes his escape, heading back out the way they came in. 

Outside, the chill air around him is no source of comfort. Mu Qing’s chest burns, but he rushes over to the corner of the street regardless of it. He doesn’t bother to wait for the light to change when he spots a bus heading his way. 

A brief sprint takes him over, and nearly getting hit by the bus gets him on it.

His finger taps anxiously against his wrist until it starts moving. As the distance between the library and him grows, he relaxes into his seat, setting his laptop bag in his lap before fishing his phone out of his pocket. 

Mu Qing’s halfway into a text message when it starts ringing, the first few notes of a piano piece filling the bus. Feng Xin’s name and picture pop on the screen and he clicks the volume button to silence it, waiting for the vibration to end before continuing on with his message.

Mu Qing manages to finish it even if three or four more calls come in, followed by a couple voicemails.

[Stop calling. I told you, I’m here to do a job. Check your pocket, I’ve left everything I know with you. No Face never had Xie Lian, he’s out there, somewhere. So find him, and don’t you dare call me until you do.

I need to know if he’s okay.]

As soon as Mu Qing hits send, he’s flooded with texts he doesn’t want to see. Of things he can’t bring himself to answer. Each vibration cuts into his soul, leaving stinging wounds, and he has to close his eyes.

Instead of focusing on the ache, Mu Qing leans back into his bus seat, cold hands laying neatly on his bag as he clutches his incessantly ringing phone close.

Mu Qing doesn’t bother looking at it until he hears another call come through, the ringtone assigned to this one is not the pleasant piano piece from before. Raising the phone to his face confirms the flashing ‘private’ over the screen. Something akin to searing hatred bubbles underneath his skin as he scowls.

For making Mu Qing leave home for the second time in a row, he won’t make this so easy.

This time, in his rage, he answers the phone with little hesitation.

Then, before No Face can even say anything, Mu Qing lets his voice come down like a threat, each word coated in a thick layer of ice.

“Come and find me, bastard.”